“I’m Beef,”
“Beef?” While her principal emotions are worry and concern, there’s an undercurrent of mirth in her tone as she repeats my name.
“Yeah,” I grin. “Because I’m a big ugly fucker.”
Her fingers touch my face again. “No, you’re not ugly.” A fleeting smile curves her mouth, and I realise I’m enjoying her touch.
“You can’t see him,” Pal interjects bluntly, contradicting. As her head tilts, he adds, “I’m Paladin.”
Now her smile is larger. “Like the knight?”
“You got it.”
“Are you from an MC?”
I’m still crouching, and my muscles are complaining, but her comment makes me look at her sharply. “What do you know about MCs?”
“Nothing.” Her skin has got a pink tinge. “Only what I picked up from watching Sons of Anarchy and the books that I read.”
I note the strange use of the words watching and reading, but now’s not the time to question her. I just want to put her mind at rest. “Yeah, we’re from the Satan’s Devils MC, sweetheart, but mean no harm to you.”
“I know that. I know there are people here frightened of you, but I’m not. You looked after Max, Beef. You’ve taken the time to come to tell me about him when you could have called. You’ve got friends with you. That’s what I know of you. I heard people move aside as you were coming over, the whispered comments they made. But actions speak louder than anything else.”
The more I talk to her, the more she impresses me. Maybe it’s because she knows who I ride with and accepts it, not from any pre-conceived notions, but only judging from experience. Extrapolating from a man spending a Saturday evening at a vet’s, that he must be a good person. I might not be able to say I haven’t got a stain on my character, but I don’t think of myself as bad. It’s refreshing to find someone who doesn’t start with poor judgement as soon as they know who I ride with.
A shift by my side. Glancing up I see Pyro glaring. The room’s filled up more since we’ve been talking. The man Pyro’s directing his expression at holds up his hands, but his eyes indicate the room around him. Yeah, probably wasn’t his fault that he bumped him. I don’t need to hear what Pyro’s murmuring to Pal to know they want to get out of here.
“You got anyone coming for you?” My attention turns back to Stevie.
“No, I’ll call an Uber to take me home.”
No family or friends? I frown. What will she do when her ride arrives? Ask someone to take her to the entrance? Ask the Uber driver to come in and collect her? How will she know she can trust whoever comes along? She could end up getting in a car with anyone.
“You up to riding a bike?” I surprise myself with the question.
“A bike?”
“Yeah, I’ll take you home. Don’t like the idea of you going off with a stranger.”
She frowns, then snaps out, “I’m blind, not helpless.”
I nearly smile at the vehemence in her tone. “Not suggesting you are. But this place is crammed, Stevie. Don’t know how long you’ll need to wait for a ride. It is late on a Saturday. Fastest way to get you back is for you to come with me.”
A snort makes me look up. Pyro’s eyes have widened. But he doesn’t know my philosophy of thinking the pillion seat comes in useful for anyone needing to hitch a ride. Doesn’t mean anything more to me. Waste of time having one if you’re not going to have a passenger, and no point me reserving it for an old lady seeing as I’m not going to go down that route again.
“Ever been on a bike?” Pal asks, dubiously, his eyes studying hers. I’m just about to reply and say her sight or lack of has nothing to do with her ability to hang on when she replies.
“Not for a while, but back in my late teens I used to ride on the back of a bike.”
“So, not a virgin?” I grin, though she won’t be able to see it.
Her cheeks flash red. “No.”
“Well, come on then. Let’s get you home.” At last I get to my feet and hold out my hand.
She hesitates.
It hits me I’m exactly what I warned her of. “Hey, I know I’m a stranger…”
“It’s not that. I don’t think of you that way, not after everything you’ve done for me. But, could you give me your hand?”
Well, fuck. Stupid fucking idiot. This time, my hand reaches out further and grasps hold of hers.
She takes it but doesn’t keep hold of it. Instead, once she’s standing, she moves it until she rests her fingers in the crook of my arm. “Lead on.”
Pyro’s watching her, then giving a jerk of his head, steps in front of me. He clears a path ahead, and I lead her through. All’s well until we get to the door and instead of taking the ramp, I step down…
Luckily my reactions are fast and I manage to catch hold of her before she topples right over. I hear a muttered ‘fuck’ under her breath.
“Jeez, babe, I’m sorry.”
“Beef, if I had a dollar for the number of times people have forgotten to warn me about a step, or a curb, I’d be a very rich woman. That’s where Max is good.”
“Your dog warns you?”
“Yes. He stops.”
“Dog’s got more fuckin’ brains than you, Beef.”
“Can it,” I growl. But Pyro’s observation has made Stevie giggle, even though she’d stiffened at the reminder she was without her dog.
Steps, curbs. Stop at them. If a dog can be trained then so can I. But why the fuck am I trying to commit that to memory? I’ll take her home, drop her off, make sure she’s okay, then go get that fucking beer that has my name written on it.
Chapter Seven
The lamps around the parking lot cast good light in places, poor in others. For the first time in my life I’m studying where to place my feet. While Pyro and Pal squeeze through narrow gaps between the cars making a direct beeline to our bikes, I lead Stevie up and down the rows taking care there’s no obstacle in her path.
By the time I’ve reached my bike, I’ve a new admiration for Max. While I’ve only led Stevie a short distance, it’s clear that no distractions are allowed, and the job requires complete concentration. Somewhere in the depths of my memory I recall being told you shouldn’t interact with a service dog while it’s working, and now I understand the reason why.
When we reach my bike, I remember that my saddle bags are still full of my clothing, and the pillion seat is heaped high with the rest of the shit I brought with me. But I needn’t have worried. Pal’s already unhooking the bungee cords and Pyro’s piling my bags on his bike. True brothers jumping in and sorting out a problem you didn’t even know you had. Pal even extracts a helmet from his pannier.
“Jay’s,” he explains, “but I think it will fit.”
I approach Stevie. When the helmet touches her head, she jumps. “Fuck, sorry. Just putting a helmet on you, okay?” She can’t see, dumbass.
“Yeah, sure. Thanks.” But my unexpected action has shocked her, I can see how her breathing sped up.
“Stevie, I’m going to make a lot of mistakes, okay? I’m going to fuck up.”
She must use the sound of my voice to guide her, but her hand finds my arm, then slides down until she’s gripping my hand, squeezing it gently. “You’re doing fine.”
“I’m gonna get you on the bike now, sweetheart. Take a step to the side and put your hand out. There, lower. Got it. That’s the seat. I’m going to get on, then when I do, put your leg over it, okay?”
“I’ll help her if she needs it,” Pal offers.
But she’s got the idea of it, swinging her leg over like a pro. She hadn’t lied, she has done this before. As she doesn’t weigh much, the bike hardly notices her extra weight on it as I kick up the stand and balance it. Before turning on the engine, I give her a few instructions about hanging onto my waist and moving with me around the corners just in case she’s forgotten. I take a second to admire her bravery and trust, she’s on a bike with a stranger, but offers no plea for me to take
it carefully.
“Okay. Let’s get moving. You going to tell me where we’re going?”
“We’ll see you back at the clubhouse,” Pyro says. Then he and Pal take off.
She gives me the general idea, then fine-tunes the directions as we draw closer. It takes a lot of communication, me describing where we are, then her telling me which way to turn. When we arrive, there’s a drive I can park on. It’s a pleasant house from what I can see of it in the darkness, set back a little from the road, flowers lining the driveway. As I help her off and hang the helmet on the handlebar, I notice a perfume in the air as I walk her down to the front door.
She takes out her key and uses it, then steps inside, placing her purse and key on a table near the door.
Then she turns. “Thank you, Beef. Thank you for everything. I don’t know what would have happened had you not been there…”
“Fuck, babe. Someone would have helped. Just glad I was there. I hope Max does okay.” I don’t tell her, but I’ll be checking up on him myself.
It’s awkward. I don’t know her, she doesn’t know me. Just strangers really that met in the night. I’ve got this strange impulse to know more about her, how she lives her life, what she does for a living. There’s no one at home, so presumably there’s no husband or kids, but she may have a boyfriend. Woman looking like her must attract interest. I’d love a peep into her home, wondering if it’s drab and dreary, or whether she has a colour scheme. Fuck knows why she would, she can’t see it. Is it fancy or plain and utilitarian? And why am I so fucking interested?
She’s not inviting me in, and there’s no reason for her to. “Well, I’ll be off. Stevie, I took the liberty of putting my number into your phone. If you need anything—”
“Thank you, but I’ll be fine, Beef.”
I start leaning in with the intention of placing a kiss to her cheek, then pull myself back. Not got that kind of relationship. Not got any kind of relationship at all. As I realise this is the last I’ll see of her, I feel a pang of regret.
“Okay. Right. Goodnight.” Nothing else to say.
“Goodnight, Beef. And, thank you again.”
She steps forward, reaches for the handle. I step back, and the door closes.
Some bizarre instinct has me glued to the spot. My protective nature would have liked to check out the house before she stepped into it. What if there was an intruder inside? How would she know? It’s not like me to just walk off and leave someone, but I’ve not had an encounter like this before. If I’ve ever taken a woman back to her house, it was with the intention of fucking her. That’s not the situation here. Not that I wouldn’t have turned down the offer, but it wouldn’t have come. She’s not the type to want to casually take a ride on a biker’s cock.
Why is my mind going there? Last night, like a dumbass, I’d made a commitment to Sally that I wouldn’t touch another woman. Even had she offered, I wouldn’t have been able to take her up on it.
I stand there, staring at nothing, thinking about the difference between the woman I’d left and the woman who’s behind the other side of the door. I might not know much about Stevie, but am impressed as hell about how well she’s able to cope. Her independence shines through, and she’s brave. Didn’t balk at riding my bike, didn’t fear falling off. Trusted me to keep her safe.
Sally might think she needs me, but it dawns on me that’s what is missing. Trust.
I’m brought out of my reverie by a disturbing sound. A distraught wail followed by weeping.
I’m frozen to the spot, uncertain of my next actions. Do I quietly go? Leave her to her privacy? Or, do I try to offer comfort and help? Would me witnessing her breakdown cause embarrassment, or would she welcome the support?
Before I have second thoughts, my hand lifts and my knuckles knock against the wood. Getting no answer, I rap louder, then call out, “Stevie, you alright?”
The cries fade, then I get a response. “I’m… fine. I’m…” Each word is punctuated with heart wrenching sobs.
“Babe, let me in. You’ve had one hell of a shock. You shouldn’t be alone.” She must have a friend I can call for her.
“Beef, I…”
“Let me in.” Bracing my arm against the wood, I lean forward and gentle my voice. “Open the door, babe.”
For a moment nothing happens. I’m just accepting I’ve done all I can when there’s the sound of the deadbolt being slid back and the latch turning. The sight I see on the other side breaks my heart. Already her eyes are red, tracks of tears running down her cheeks and those not yet fallen are glistening in her eyes. She looks the picture of desperation. It’s natural for me to take the step that closes the distance between us, kicking the door shut behind me with my boot, and pulling her into my arms.
Her hands clutch at my cut as she avails herself of human kindness. Her sobs that she was trying to hold back come forth. I rub my hands up and down her back.
“Let it out, babe. Let it all out. I’m here, Stevie. I’m here. You cry babe, you need it.”
Loosening her fingers, she’s now gently beating at my chest. I don’t think she’s got a clue what she’s doing. “Why, Beef, why? Why did Max get hurt? Why did that car run us down? What was it doing on the sidewalk? Why Beef? Why?”
Well fuck me. I’d been so tied up in dealing with the aftermath, I hadn’t given the why much thought. An accident or lack of concentration was what I’d put it down to, but I’m a biker used to a criminal world. Now she’s got me wondering whether there could be more to it.
“I don’t know, Stevie. But I do know Max is a fuckin’ brave dog who saved your life.”
“I don’t know what I’ll do without him.” Her tears might have started to dry, but her voice still breaks at the thought.
“You’ll have him back. He’ll be fine, Stevie.”
“You don’t know that. You told me yourself.”
“Look, why don’t we sit down? I’ll call James—he’s the vet. Get a progress update, how about that?” Anything to give her some hope. And if the dog’s taken a turn for the worse, at least I’ll be here to help her deal with it.
“At this time of night?”
Somehow I think James will have been true to his word, and will be keeping a close watch on his canine patient. “I’ll give it a try, okay?”
Another sob, this one less violent, and she takes out a tissue blowing her nose noisily. Her hands touch my chest again. “I’ve made your cut wet.”
“Not a thing for you to worry about. Where are we going to sit?” I fumble for a light switch and when I find it by the side of the door, flick it on. She might be able to find her way around in the darkness, but I’ll break my neck.
She lets me go, then points to a sofa. She makes her way unwaveringly to it, avoiding the low coffee table in her path. Before she sits, she turns back. “One rule in this house, Beef. Don’t move anything. No furniture, not even the waste basket. Leave everything in its place, okay?”
She’s clearly used to issuing that instruction. The reason why is obvious. I nod my head. Then realising the futility of the gesture, give her words instead, “Got it.”
She sits at one end of the three-seater sofa, leaving the other two seats for my bulk. It dips as I place my ass on it. True to my word and mentally crossing my fingers, I waste no time in calling the vet.
“You got James.”
“How’s Max?” I ask without even an introduction. I doubt he’s caring for more than one animal of that name.
“Resting comfortably. Have you seen the owner?” James is equally brief.
“Yeah, I’m with her now.”
“She alright?”
Stevie’s making gimme gestures, and I guess she wants to hear the update herself. I pass the phone over, carefully wrapping her fingers around it.
“James, sorry, I don’t know… Ransom. Got it. Yes, I’m fine. Not much more than a headache. How’s Max?”
I’m only able to hear her side of the conversation which consists
mainly of, uh huhs and okay and yeah, I got that. I take the opportunity to watch her face. She bites her lip, grimaces, frowns, then there’s a small smile. Then her brow creases again.
“What time are you open?” she says at last. Followed by, “I’ll be there. Thank you. And yes, I’ll be prepared.”
When she holds the phone out to me I take it, watching as she leans her head into her hands.
“Well?”
“He used a lot of medical jargon, but at the end of it you were right. Good news is that so far he hasn’t deteriorated. I’m going to go in at eight tomorrow and see him.”
The words, “I’ll take you,” immediately come out of my mouth.
Her head comes up, and she stares at a point just over my shoulder. “You don’t need to do that.”
I don’t know what drove me to make the offer. “You got family or friends that can take you?”
That streak of independence appears again. “No, but there are things called taxis.”
I may not know her, but she’s cute and pretty. It’s hard to imagine she’s got no one to call on. “No friends who support you?”
“I’ve got family, yes. But they’re not close by. I only moved here fairly recently, so I haven’t got any contacts yet.”
“Workmates?”
“No, what I do, I do from home.
I’m interested. “What do you do?”
“I’m a computer programmer.”
Don’t you need to be able to see to do that? My respect for her grows. But so does a feeling of responsibility for her. I settle back on the couch. “Well, you do now.”
Her brow furrows again. “I do now what?”
“Have a friend who’ll be there for you.”
She laughs incredulously. “We’ve only just met.”
I shrug. Then use words. “Doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s because I know how I’d feel if something of mine was hurt, maybe I took a liking to Max. No doubt he’s a hero and that I can respect. Maybe it’s because I think we’ve connected. Look, you don’t know me, but I’m no threat. I don’t want anything from you. You want the truth? This is strange to me too. I’ve only moved to Pueblo today myself. Perhaps I could do with a friend too.” It’s true. Especially as I’ll be in a new clubhouse. Sure, I’ll have brothers, but there may also be times when I need privacy and a break. The Pueblo clubhouse isn’t like Tucson with acres of room on the compound and the suites with only one neighbour. Here my room will be in the midst of all the others.
Satan's Devils MC Colorado Boxset 1 Books 1 - 3 Page 77